The Little Red Foot

by Robert W. Chambers

  CHAPTER XXIII

  WINTER AND SPRING

  Snow came as it comes to us in the Northland--a blinding fall, heavy andmonotonous--and in forty-eight hours the Johnstown Road was blocked.

  Followed a day of dazzling sunshine and intense cold, which set ourtimbers cracking; and the snow, like finest flour, creaked under oursnow-shoes.

  All the universe had turned to blue and silver; and the Vlaie Water ranfathomless purple between its unstained snows. But that night the cloudsreturned and winds grew warmer, and soon the skies opened with featherywhite volleys, and the big, thick flakes stormed down again,obliterating alike the work of nature and of man.

  Summer House was covered to the veranda eaves. We made shovels andcleared the roofs and broke paths to stable and well.

  Here, between dazzling ramparts, we lived and moved and had our being,week after week; and every new snow-storm piled higher our palisades andburied the whole land under one vast white pall.

  Vlaie Water froze three feet solid; fierce winds piled the ice withgigantic drifts so that no man could mark the course of the creeks anymore; and a vast white desolation stretched away to the mountains,broken only by naked hard-wood forests or by the interminable ocean ofthe pines weighted deep with snow.

  Only when a crust came were we at any pains to set a watch against a warparty from the Canadas. But none arrived; no signal smoke stained thepeaks; nothing living stirred on that dead white waste save those littlegrey and whining birds which creep all day up and down tree-trunks, or asudden gusty flight of snow-birds, which suddenly arrive from nowhereand are gone as suddenly.

  Once a white owl with yellow eyes sat upon the ridge-pole of our barn;but our pullets were safe within, and Penelope drove him away withsnowballs.

  The deer yarded on Maxon; lynx-tracks circled our house and barn, andwe sometimes heard old tassel-ears a-miauling on the Stacking Ridge.

  And, toward the end of February, there were two panthers that left hugecat-prints across the drifts on the Johnstown Road; but they took notoll of our sheep, which were safe in a stone fold, though the oakendoor to it bore marks of teeth and claws, where the pumas had strivenhard to break in and do murder.

  Save when a crust formed and we took our turns on guard, my Indianrolled himself in bear-furs by the kitchen oven, and like a bear heslept there until hunger awoke him long enough to gorge for anotherstretch of sleep.

  Nick and I took axes to the woods and drew logs on a sledge to split forfire use. Our tasks, too, kept us busy feeding our live creatures,fetching water, keeping paths open, and fishing through the ice.

  In idler intervals we carved devices upon our powder-horns, cureddeer-skins in the Oneida fashion, boiled pitch and mended our canoe,fashioned paddles, poles, and shafts for fish-spears, strung snow-shoes,built a fine sledge out of ash and hickory, and made Kaya draw us on thecrust.

  So, all day, each was busy with tasks and duties, and had little leisureleft for that dull restlessness which, in idle people, is the root ofall the mischief they devise to do.

  Penelope mended our clothing and knitted mittens and jerkins. Allhouse-work and cooking she accomplished, and milked and churned andcared for the pullets. Also, she dipped candles and moulded bullets fromthe lead bars I found in the gun-room. And when our deer-skins werecured and softened, she made for us soft wallets, sacks, and pouches,and sewed upon them bright beads in the Oneida fashion, from the pack oftrade beads in Sir William's gun-room. She sewed upon every accoutrementa design done in scarlet beads, showing a picture of a little red foot.

  Lord, but we meant to emerge from our snows in brave fashion, comespring-tide; for now our deer-skin garments were splendid with beads,and our fringes were green and purple. Also, Nick had trapped it somewhen opportunity offered, setting his line from Summer House along VlaieWater to Howell's house, thence across the frozen Drowned Lands to theStacking Ridge, and from there back over the Spring Pool, and thencedown-creek to the Sacandaga, where Fish House stood with its glazedwindows empty as a blind man's eyes.

  He had, by March, a fine pack of peltry; and of these we cured and usedsufficient muskrat to sew us blankets, and made a mantle of otter forPenelope and a hood and muff to match.

  For ourselves we made us caps out of black mink, and sewed all togetherby our dip-lights in the red firelight, where apples slowly sizzled withthe rich, sweet perfume I love to smell.

  Sometimes Nick played upon his fife; and sometimes we all told storiesand roasted chestnuts. Nick had more stories and more imagination thanhad I, and a livelier wit in the telling of tales. But chiefly I waswilling to hear Penelope when she told us of her childhood in France,and how folk lived in that warm and sweet country, and what were theirdaily customs.

  Also, she sang sometimes children's songs of France, and other prettyballads, mostly concerning love. For the French occupy themselveschiefly with love and cooking and the fine arts, I judge, and know howto make an art of eating, also. For there in France every meal is aceremony; but in this land we eat not for the pleasurable taste which,in savory food, delights and tempts, but we eat swiftly and carelesslyand chiefly to stay our hunger.

  Yet, at times, food smacks smartly to my tongue; as when at Christmastide I shot a great wild turkey on the Stacking Ridge; and when Penelopebasted it in the kitchen my mouth watered as I sniffed the door-crack.

  And again, gone stale with soupaan and jerked meat and fish soused ordried with salt, Nick shot a yearling buck near our barn at daylight;and the savour of his cooking filled all with pleasure.

  Upon the New Year we made a feast and had a bottle of Sir William'sport, another of Madeira, a punch of spirits, and three pewters ofbuttery ale.

  Lord! there was a New Year. And first, not daring to give drink to mySaguenay, we fed him till he was gorged, and so rolled him in a pile offurs till he slept by the oven below. Then we set twenty dips afire bythe chimney, and filled it up with dry logs.... I am sorry we had solittle sense; for I was something fuddled, and sang ballads--which I cannot--and Nick would dance, which he did by himself; and his hornpipesand pigeon-wings and shuffles and war-dances made my head spin and myheavy eyes desire to cross.

  Penelope's cheeks burned, and she fanned and fanned her with a turkeywing and laughed to see Nick caper and to hear the piteous squallingwhich was my way of singing.

  But she complained that the dip-lights danced and that the floor behavedin strange fashion, running like ripples on Vlaie Water in a west wind.

  She had sipped but one glass of Sir William's port, but I think it was aglass too much; for the wine made her so hot, so she vowed, that herbody was all one ardent coal, and so presently she pulled the hair-pegsfrom her hair and let it down and shook it out in the firelight till itflashed like a golden scarf flung about her.

  Her pannier basque of rose silk--gift of Claudia and made in France--shepresently slipped out of, leaving her in her petticoat and folded like aQuakeress in her crossed foulard, and her white arms as bare as herneck.

  Which innocently concerned her not a whit, nor had she any more thoughtof her throat's loveliness than she had of herself in her shift thatmorning at Bowman's.

  She sat cooling her face with the turkey-wing fan and watching Nick'scontre-dancing--his own candle-cast shadow on the wall dancingvis-a-vis--and she laughed and laughed, a-fanning there, like a childdelighted by the antics of two older brothers, while Nick whirled onmoccasined feet in his mad career, and I fifed windily to time hisgambolading.

  Then we played country games, but she would not kiss us as forfeit,defending her lips and vowing that no man should ever again take thattoll of her.

  Which contented me, though I remonstrated; and I was glad that Nickshould not cheapen her lips though it cost me the same privilege. For weplayed "Swallow! Swallow!" and I guessed correctly how many apple pipsshe held in her hand when she sang:

  "Who can count the swallow's eggs? Try it, Master Nimble-legs! Climb and find a swallow's nest, Count the eggs beneath her breast, Take
an egg and leave the rest And kiss the maid you love the best!"

  But it was her hand only we might kiss, and but one finger at that--thesmallest--for, says she, "John Drogue hath said it, and I am mistress ofSummer House! What I choose to give--or forgive--is of my properchoice.... And I do not choose to be kissed by any man whether he wearssilk puce or deer-skin shirt!"

  But the devil prompted me to remember Steve Watts, and my countenancechanged.

  "Do you bar regimentals?" I asked, forcing a wry smile.

  She knew what was in my mind, for jealousy grinned at her out of myevery feature; and she came toward me and laid her light hand upon myarm.

  "Or red coat or blue, my lord," she said, her smile fading to a glimmer,"men have had of me my last complaisance. Are you not content? Youtaught me, sir."

  "If he taught you that a kiss is folly, he taught you more folly than isin a thousand kisses!" cries Nick. "Why," said he, turning on me, "youpitiful, sober-faced, broad-brimmed spoil-sport!" says he, "what arelips made for, you meddlesome ass, and be damned to you!"

  Instantly we were in clinch like two bears; and we wrestled and strainedand swayed there, panting and nigh stifled with our laughter, till wefell with a crash that shook the house and set the bottles clinking; andthere thrashed like a pair o' pups till I got his shoulders flat.

  But it was nothing--he being the younger--and he leaped up and fell totreading an Oneida battle-dance, while Penelope and I did beat upon thetable, singing:

  "Ha-wa-sa-say! Hah! Ha-wa-sa-say--"

  till the door opened and there stands my Saguenay, bleary-eyed,sleep-muddled, but his benumbed brain responsive to the thumping cadenceof the old scalp-song.

  But I pushed him down stairs ere he had sniffed a lung-full of ourpunch, having no mind to face a drink-mad Indian that night or anyother.

  So I went below and piled the furs upon him and waited till he snoredbefore I left him to his hibernation.

  Such childishness! Who would believe it of us that were no longerchildren! And all alone there in a little house amid a vast and wintrywilderness, where no living thing stirred abroad save the white hare'sghost in the starlight, and the shadow of the lean, weird beast thattracked her.

  Well, if we conducted like children we were as light-minded and asinnocent. There was in our behaviour no lesser levity; in our mirth nogrossness; in our jests and stories no license of the times nor anycountry coarseness in our speech.

  Nor, in me, now remained aught of that sick-heart jealousy norsentimental disorder which lately had seized me and upset my sense andreason.

  My sentiments concerning Penelope seemed very clear to me now;--a warmliking; a chivalrous desire for her well-being and happiness; a pridethat I had been, in some measure, the instrument which had awakened herto her own prerogatives in a world whose laws are made by men.

  And if, on such an occasion as this, she gave us her countenance andeven frolicked with us, there was a new and clearer note in herlaughter, a swifter confidence in her smile, and, in voice and look andmovement, a subtle and shy authority which had not been there in theinexperienced and candid child whose heart seemed bewildered whenassaulted, and whose lips, undefended, rendered them to the firstmarauder.

  I said as much, one day, to Nick.

  "You've turned the child's head," said he, "with your kinglybenefactions. You have but to woo her if you want her to wife."

  "Wife!" said I, scared o' the very word. "What the devil shall I do witha wife, who am contented as I am? Also, it is not in her mind, nor inmine, who now are pleasant friends and comrades.... Also," I added,"love is a disorder and begets a brood of jealousies to plague a man todeath! I am calm and contented. I am enamoured of no woman, and do notdesire to be so.... Although, when I pass thirty, and possess estates,doubtless I shall desire an heir."

  "And go a-hunting a mother for this same heir among the gilt-hats of NewYork," said Nick. "Which is your destiny, John Drogue, for like seekslike, and a yeoman is born, not made;--and wears his rings in hisears----"

  "Have done!" said I impatiently. "I _am_ of the soil! I love it! I loveplowed land and corn and the smell of stables! I love my log house andmy glebe and the smell of English grass!"

  "But a servant is a servant, John Drogue, and the mistress of your roofshall have walked in silk before she ever puts on homespun and pattensfor love of you! Lord, man! I am I, and you are you! And we mate notwith the same breed o' birds. No! For mine shall be a ground-chick ofsober hue and feather; and your sweetheart shall have bright wings andown the air for a home.

  "That is already written: 'each after its kind.' So God send you yourrainbow lady from the clouds, and give you a pretty heir in due event;and as for me, if I guess right, my mate to be hath never flutteredhigher than her garret nor worn a shred of silk till she sews herwedding dress!"

  * * * * *

  On the last day of March maple sap ran.

  Nick and I set out that day to seek a sugar-bush for the new mistress ofSummer House.

  Snow was soft and our snow-shoes scarce bore us, but we floundered alongthe hard woods, and presently discovered a grove of stately maples.

  All that day we were busy in the barn making buckets out o' stavesstored there; and on the first day of April we waded the softening snowto the new sugar-bush, tapped the trees, set our spouts and buckets, andalso drew thither a kettle and dry wood against future need.

  I remember that the day was clear and warm, where, in the sun, the barndoors stood open and the chickens ventured out to scratch about, wherethe sun had melted the snow.

  All day long our cock was a-crowing and a-courting; the south wind camewarm with spring and fluttered the wash which Penelope was hanging outto dry and whiten under soft, blue skies.

  In pattens she tripped about the slushy yard, her thick, bright hairpegged loosely, and her child's bosom and arms as white as the snow shestepped on.

  Save only for my Saguenay, who stood on the veranda roof, resting uponhis rifle, the scene was sweet and peaceful. Sheep bleated in yard andfold; cattle lowed in their manger; our cock's full-throated challengerang out under sunny skies; and everywhere the blue air was murmurouswith the voice of rills running from the melting snows like mountainbrooks.

  On Vlaie Water the ice rotted awash; and already black crows werewalking there, and I could see them busily searching the dead and yellowsedge, from where I sat hooping my sap-buckets and softly whistling tomyself.

  Nick made a snowball and flung it at me, but I dodged it. Then Penelopemade another and aimed it at me so truly that the soft lump covered mycap and shoulders with snow.

  But her quick peal of laughter was checked when I sprang up to chastenher, and she fled on her pattens, but I caught her around the corner ofthe house under the lilacs.

  "You should be trussed up and trounced like any child," said I, holdingher with one hand whilst I scraped out snow from my neck with t'other.

  At that she bent and flung a handful of snow over me; and I seized her,bent her back, and scrubbed her face till it was pink.

  Choked with snow and laughter, we swayed together, breathless, she stilldefiant and snatching up snow to fling over me.

  "_You_ truss _me_ up!" she panted. "Do you think you are more than a boyto use me as a father or a husband only has the right?"

  "You little minx!" said I, when I had spat out a mouthful of snow, "isnot anyone free to trounce a child!----"

  At that I slipped, or she tripped me; into a drift I went, and shepounced on me and sat astride with a cry of triumph.

  "Now," says she, "I shall take your scalp, my fine friend"; and twistedone hand in my hair.

  "Hiu-u! Kou-ee!" she cried, "a scalp taken means war to the end! Do youcry me mercy, John Drogue?"

  I struggled, but the snow was soft and I sank the deeper, and could notunseat her.

  "I drown in snow," said I. "Get up, you jade!"

  "Jade!" cries she, and stopped my mouth with snow.

  I s
truggled in vain; under her clinging weight the soft snow engulfedand held me like a very quicksand. I looked up at her and she laugheddown at me.

  "Do you yield you, John Drogue?"

  "It seems I must. But wait!----"

  "You threaten!"

  "No! Do you mean to drown me, you vixen!"

  "You engage not to seek revenge?"

  "I do so."

  "Why? Because you love me tenderly?"

  "Yes," said I, half choked. "Let me up, you plague of Egypt!"

  "That is not a loving speech, John Drogue. Do you love me or no?"

  "Yes, I do,--you little,----"

  "Little what?"

  "Object of my heart's desire!" I fairly yelled. "I am like to smotherhere!----"

  "This is All Fools' Day," says she, sick with laughter to see me mad andat her mercy. "Therefore, you must tell me lies, not truths. Tell me apretty lie,--quickly!--else I scrub your features!"

  After a helpless heave or two I lay still.

  "You say you love me tenderly. That is a lie, John Drogue--it being AllFools' Day. So you shall vow, instead, that you hate me. Come, then!"

  "I hate you!" said I, licking the snow from my lips.

  "Passionately?"

  I looked up at her where deep in the snow, under the lilacs, I lay, myarms spread and her two hands pinning my wrists. She was flushed withlaughter and I saw the devils o' mischief watching me deep in her darkeyes.

  "It was under these lilacs," said I, "that I had my first hurt of you.You should heal that hurt now."

  That confused her, and she blushed and swore to punish me for thatfling; but I grinned at her.

  "Come," said I, "heal me of my ancient wound as you dealt it me--withyour lips!"

  "I did not kiss Steve Watts!"

  "But he kissed you. So do the like by me and I forgive you all."

  "All?"

  "Everything."

  "Even what I have now done?"

  "Even that."

  "And you will not truss me up to chasten me when you go free? For itwould shame me and I could not endure it."

  "I promise."

  She looked down at me, smiling, uncertain.

  "What will you do to me if I do not?" she asked.

  "Drown you in snow three times every day."

  "And I needs must kiss you to buy my safety?"

  "Yes, and with hearty good will, too."

  She glanced hastily around, perhaps to seek an avenue for escape,perhaps to see who might spy us.

  Then, looking down at me, a-blush now, yet laughing, she bent her headslowly, very slowly to mine, and rested her lips on mine.

  Then she was up and off like a young tree-lynx, fleeing, stumbling onher pattens; but, like a white hare, I lay very still in my form,unstirring, gazing up into the bluest, softest sky that my dazzled eyesever had unclosed upon.

  There was a faint fragrance in the air. It may have been arbutus--or thetrace of her lips on mine.

  In my ears trilled the pretty melody of a million little snow rillsrunning in the sunshine. I heard the gay cock-crow from the yard, therestless lowing of cattle, the distant caw of a crow flying high overthe Drowned Lands.

  When at last I got to my feet a strange, new soberness had come over me,stilling exhilaration, quieting the rough and boyish spirits which hadpossessed me.

  Penelope, hanging out linen to sweeten, looked at me over her shoulder,plainly uncertain concerning me. But I kept my word and did not offer tomolest her, and so went about my cooper's work again, where Nick alsosquatted, matching bucket staves, whilst I fell to shaping sap-pans.

  It was very still there in the sunshine. And, as I sat there, it seemedto me that I was putting more behind me than the icy and unsulliedmonths of winter,--and that I should never be a boy any more, with aboy's passionless and untroubled soul.

  * * * * *

  And so came spring upon us in the Northland that fateful year of '77,with blue skies and melting snow and the cock's clarion sounding clear.

  But it was mid-April before the first Forest Runner, with pelts, passedthrough the Sacandaga, twelve days out from Ty, and the woods nighimpassable, he gave account, what with soft drifts choking the hills andall streams over their banks.

  And then, for the first, we learned something concerning the great warthat was waging everywhere around our outer borders,--how His Excellencyhad surprised the Hessians at Trenton, and had tricked Cornwallis andbeat up the enemy at Princeton. It was amazing to realize that HisExcellency, with only the frozen fragments of a meagre and defeatedarmy, had recovered all the Jerseys. But this was so, thank God; and wewondered to hear of it.

  All this the Forest Runner told us as he ate and drank in thekitchen,--and how Lord Stirling had been made a major-general, and thatwe had now enlisted four fine regiments of horse to curb DeLancy's boldriders; and how that great Tory, John Penn, who was lately Governor ofPennsylvania, Thomas Wharton, and Benjamin Chew, had been packed offwith other villains as prisoners into Virginia. Which pleased me,because of all that Quaker treachery in the proprietary; and I deemedthem mean and selfish and self-righteous dogs who whined all day ofpeace and brotherhood and non-resistance, and did conduct most cruellyby night for greed and sordid gain.

  Not that I liked the New Englanders the better; but, of the two,preferred them and had rather they settled the Pennsylvania wilds thanthat the sly, smug proprietaries multiplied there and nursed treason atthe breast.

  Well, our Coureur-du-Bois, in his greasy leather, quills, and scarletbraid, had other news for us less palatable.

  For it seemed that we had lost two thousand men and all their artillerywhen Fort Washington fell; that we had lost a hundred more men andeleven vessels to Sir Guy Carleton on Lake Champlain; that the garrisonat Ty was a slim one and sick for the most, and the relief regimentswere so slow in filling that three New England states were draftingtheir soldiery by force.

  There were rumours rife concerning the summer campaign, and how theBritish had a plan to behead our new United States by lopping off allNew England.

  It was to be done in this manner: Guy Carleton's army was to come downfrom the North through the lakes, driving Gates, descend the Hudson toAlbany and there join Clinton and his British, who were to force theHighlands, march up the river, and so hold all the Hudson, which wouldcut the head--New England--from the body of the new nation.

  And to make this more certain, there was now gathering in the West anarmy under Butler and Brant, to strike the Mohawk Valley, sweep throughit to Schenectady, and there come in touch with Burgoyne.

  To oppose this terrible invasion from three directions we had forts onthe Hudson and a few troops; but His Excellency was engaged south ofthese points and must remain there.

  We had, at Ty, a skeleton army, and Gates to lead it, with which to faceBurgoyne. We had, in the Mohawk Valley, to block the west and show abold front to Brant and Butler, only fragments of Van Schaick's andLivingston's Continental line, now digging breastworks at Stanwix, acompany at Johnstown, and at a crisis, our Tryon County militia, nowdrilling under Herkimer.

  And, save for a handful of Rangers and Oneidas, these were all we had inTryon to resist the hordes that were gathering to march on us fromnorth, west and south,--British regulars with horse, foot, andmagnificent artillery; partizans and loyalists numbering 1200; athousand savages in their paint; Highlanders, Canadians, Hessians; SirJohn Johnson's regiment of Royal Greens; Colonel John Butler's regimentof Rangers; McDonald's renegades and painted Tories--God! what amurderous horde; and all to make their common tryst here in CountyTryon!

  Our grim, lank Forest Runner sprawled on the settle by the kitchentable, smoking his bitter Indian tobacco and drinking rum and water,well sugared; and Penelope and Nick and I sat around him to listen, andlook gravely at one another as we learned more and more of what itseemed that Fate had in storage for us.

  The hot spiced rum loosened the Runner's tongue. His name was DickJessup; and he was a hard, grim man wh
ose business, from youth--whichwas peltry--had led him through perilous ways.

  He told us of wild and horrid doings, where solitary settlers and lonetrappers had been murdered by Guy Carleton's outlying Iroquois, fromQuebec to Crown Point.

  Scores and scores of scalps had been taken; wretched prisoners hadsuffered at the Iroquois stake under tortures indescribable--the meremention of which made Penelope turn sickly white and set Nick gnawinghis knuckles.

  But what most infuriated me was the thought that in the regiments of oldJohn Butler and Sir John Johnson were scores of my old neighbors who nowboasted that they were coming back to cut our throats on our ownthresholds,--coming back with a thousand savages to murder women andchildren and ravage all with fire so that only a blackened desert shouldremain of the valleys and the humble homes we had made and loved.

  Jessup said, puffing the acrid willow smoke from his clay: "Where I layhidden near Oneida Lake, I saw a Seneca war party pass on the crust; andthey had fresh scalps which dripped on the snow.

  "And, near Niagara, I saw Butler's Rangers manoeuvring on snow-shoes,with drums and curly bugle-horns."

  "Did you know any among them?" I asked sombrely.

  "Why, yes. There was Michael Reed, kin to Henry Stoner."

  "My cousin, damn him!" quoth Nick, calmly.

  "He was a drummer in the Rangers of John Butler," nodded Jessup. "And Isaw Philip Helmer there in a green uniform, and Charles Cady, too, ofFonda's Bush."

  "All I ask," says Nick, "is to get these two hands on them. I demand noweapons; I want only to feel my fingers closing on them." He sat staringinto space with the blank glare of a panther. Then, "Were they painted?"he demanded.

  "No," said Jessup, "but Simon Girty was and Newberry, too. There were adozen painted Tories or blue-eyed Indians,--whatever you call 'em,--andthey sat at a Seneca fire where the red post stood, and all eatinghalf-raw venison, guts and all----"

  Penelope averted her pallid face and leaned her head on her hand.

  Jessup took no notice: "They burned a prisoner that day. I was sick,where I lay hidden, to hear his shrieks. And the British in theircantonments could hear as plainly as I, yet nobody interfered."

  "There could have been no British officer there," said Penelope, in theghost of a voice.

  "Well, there were, then," said Jessup bluntly. Turning to me he added:"There's a gin'rall there at Niagara, called St. Leger, and he's adrunken son of a slut! We should not be afeard of that puffed upbladder, and I hope he comes against us. But Butler has some smartofficers, like his son Walter, and Lieutenant Hare, and young StephenWatts----"

  "You saw _him_ there!" exclaimed Penelope.

  "Yes, I saw him in a green uniform; and, with him also, a-horse, rodeSir John Johnson, all in red, and Walter Butler in black and green, andhis long cloak a-trail to his spurs. By God, there is a motley crew foryou--what with Brant in the saddle, in paint and buckskins and fur robe,and shaved like any dirty Mohawk; and Hiakatoo, like a blackened devilout o' hell, all barred with scarlet and wearing the head of a greatwolf for a cap, as well as the pelt to cover his war-paint!--andMcDonald, with his kilt and dirk, and the damned black eyes of him andthe two buck-teeth shining on his lips!--God!" he breathed; and took along pull at his pannikin of spiced rum.

  * * * * *

  That evening Jessup left for Johnstown on his way to Albany with hispeltry; and took with him a letter which I wrote to the Commandant atJohnstown fort.

  But it was past the first of May before I had any notice taken of myletter; and on a Sunday came an Oneida runner, bearing two letters forme; one from the Commandant, acquainting me that it was not hisintention to garrison Fish House or Summer House, that Nick and I weresufficient to stand watch on the Mohawk Trail and Drowned Lands andreport any movement threatening the Valley from the North, and that whatfew men he had must go to Stanwix, where the fort had not yet beencompleted.

  The other letter was writ me from Fonda's Bush by honest John Putman:

  "Friend Jack" (says he), "this Bush is a desert indeed and all run off,--the Tories to Canady,--such as the Helmers, Cadys, Bowmans, Reeds, and the likes,--save Adam Helmer, who is of our complexion,--and our own people who are friends to liberty have fled to Johnstown excepting me,--all the women and children,--Jean De Silver's family, De Luysnes' people, the Salisburys, Scotts, Barbara Stoner, who married Conrad Reed and has gone to New York now; and all the Putmans save myself, who shall go presently in fear of the savages and Sir John.

  "Sir, it is sad to see our housen empty and our fields fallow, and weeds growing in plowed land. There remain no longer any cattle or fowls or any beasts at all, only the wild poultry of the woods come to the deserted doorsteps, and the red fox runs along the fence.

  "Your house stands empty as it was when you marched away. Only squirrels inhabit it now, and porcupines gnaw the corn-crib.

  "Well, friend Jack, this is all I have to say. I shall drive my oxen to Johnstown Fort tomorrow, and give this letter to the first runner or express.

  "I learn that you have bought the Summer House of the Commission. I wish you joy of it, but it seems a perilous purchase, and I fear that you shall soon be obliged to leave it.

  "So, wishing you health, and beholden to you for many kindnesses--as are we all who come from Fonda's Bush--I close, sir, with respect and my obedience and duty to my brave young friend who serves liberty that we old folk and our women and children shall not perish or survive as British slaves.

  "Sir, awaiting the dread onset of Sir John with that firmness which becomes a good American, I am,

  "Your obliged and humble servant,

  "JOHN PUTMAN.

  The Oneida left in an hour for Ty.

  And it was, I think, an hour later when Nick comes a-running to find me.

  "A fire at Fish House," he cries, "and a dense smoke mounting to thesky!"

  I flung aside my letter, ran to the kitchen, and called Penelope.

  "Pack up and be ready to leave!" said I. And, to Nick: "Saddle Kaya andbe ready to take Penelope a-horse to Mayfield block-house. Call myIndian!"

  As I belted my shirt and stood ready, my Saguenay came swiftly, trailinghis rifle.

  "Come," said I, "we must learn why that smoke towers yonder to thesky."

  Penelope took me by the sleeve:

  "Do nothing rash, John Drogue," she said in a breathless way.

  "Get you ready for flight," said I, fixing a fresh flint. "Nick shallrun at your stirrup if it comes to that pinch----"

  "But _you_!"

  "Why, I am well enough; and if the Iroquois are at Fish House then Iretreat through Varick's, and so by Fonda's Bush to Mayfield Fort."

  She clasped her hands.

  "I do not wish to leave Summer House," she said pitifully. "What is tohappen to our sheep and cattle--and to our fowls and all our stores--andto Summer House itself?"

  "God knows," said I impatiently. "Why do you stand there idle when youmust make ready for flight!"

  "I--I can not bear to have you go to Fish House--all alone----"

  "I have the Yellow Leaf, and can keep clear o' trouble. Come,Penelope!----"

  "When you move toward trouble I do not desire to flee the other way,toward safety!----"

  "Pack up, Penelope!" shouted Nick, leading Kaya into the orchard, allsaddled; and fell to making up his pack on the grass.

  "At Mayfield Fort!" I called across to Nick. "And if I be not there bynight, then take Penelope to Johnstown, for it means that the Iroquoisare on the Sacandaga!"

  "I mark you, Jack!" he replied. I turned to the girl:

  "Farewell, Penelope," I said. "You shall be safe with Nick."

  "But you, John Drogue?"

  "Safe in the forest, always, and the devil himself could not catch me,"said I cheerily.

  She stretched out her hand. I took it, looked at her, then kissed herfingers
. And so went away swiftly, to where our canoe lay, troubledbecause of this young girl whom I had no desire to fall truly in lovewith, and yet knew I had been near to it many times that spring.

  I got into the canoe and took the stern paddle; my Saguenay kneeled downin the bow; and we shot out across the Vlaie Water.

  Once I turned and looked back over my shoulder; and I saw Penelopestanding there on the grass, and Nick awaiting her with Kaya.

  But I did not wish to feel as I felt at that moment. I did not desire tofall in love. No!

  "Au large!" I said to my Indian, and swept the birchen craft out intothe deep and steady current.